


All the World is Green

by Honeymull



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (non-explicitly Genderqueer!Cally), Alternate Universe - College/University, Cisgirl!Danny, F/F, New York Rangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeymull/pseuds/Honeymull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College AU, in which there is pining and misunderstandings and Cally and Danny holding strong through it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the World is Green

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for a single use of a homophobic slur said in anger, and ensuing minor violence.
> 
> Originally from a series of emails from when the Rangers called up Andre Deveaux, who grew up all BFF with Girardi (and Daniel Paille) in Canada. As Callahan and Girardi are close friends since playing together in Guelph, and I'm a sucker for jealous idiots with feelings, wondering how Deveaux popping back into the picture would affect them both led to this. Somehow? Okay fine, there's no excuse.
> 
> All the appreciation to Cathy for putting up with me spamming her with this for weeks on end.

| |

“Jesus christ,” Danny gripes on the walk home. “It's like he's never seen a girl drop the fucking gloves before.” She kicks a rock into the street, glaring as it skitters across the pavement.

Cally huffs in agreement, breath clouding a little in front of her. She shoves her hands further into her jeans pockets, shoulders shifting to accommodate her equipment bag. “Bloodied him up pretty nice, though.”

It makes Danny crack a tiny smile. Finally. “Yeah.”

Cally smiles a little to herself, too. It _was_ pretty glorious, Tim Conroy standing there with his mouth-guard dangling, doing nothing but watch Danny shake off her gloves and come at him, full of righteous fury at his sending Boyd, their little sniper, headfirst into the boards. One right hook from Danny later, and he's calling foul, holding his nose as it gushes blood onto the ice, spitting words at Danny under his breath that had Cally snarling, nearly letting go of the back of Danny's jersey in order to bloody him up a little more herself. 

The refs stepped in seconds later, one of the med staff getting Tim a towel for his nose, ushering him off the ice to the tune of “Tilt your head back, that's it, she got you good, there-”

Danny got the misconduct, of course, biting her lip until it hurt as she trudged through the hallway back to the locker-room.

Cally blocked two shots on that P.K. She can feel the bruises starting to form, one way down on her side, near her hipbone, one across her shin. 

She doesn't think she's limping, but Danny shoots her a sidelong glance and grimaces a little in wordless apology. Cally makes a face, raising her eyebrows and grinning at her. 

That finally makes Danny crack, rolling her eyes as she breaks out in an answering smile, and Cally bumps shoulders with her, feeling settled again.

They walk in companionable silence the rest of the walk back to the dorms, gravel crunching underfoot.

| | | |

There's a gym on campus, of course, but Danny hates being cooped up in a room when she works out.

Deveaux catches her as she's about to head out on a run, trying to wriggle her left shoe on without bending down as she casts about for her keycard.

He leans on the door frame and wolf-whistles. Danny doesn't look up, keeps on patting down her bedspread for lumps that resemble car keys and laminated college IDs. “Did I leave my keys in your room the other day?” she asks absently, abandoning her bedspread to survey the room again, hands on her hips. She's tall enough to peer into her roommate's lofted bunk, hoisting herself up a little on the top bar like a chin-up. 

She lets herself down easy and answers her own question. “No, because I'd've needed the ID to get back in my dorm, and nobody was with me to let me in with theirs. Fuck.”

Finally crossing to him, she punches Deveaux lightly in the arm. “Help me look, idiot.”

Deveaux clutches his arm, makes a mock-wounded face that Danny laughs at. 

“Yeah, hi to you, too,” he says, pushing off the door-frame with a grin. He shoves at the back of her head in retaliation before dropping down to look under her bed.

They get distracted, Deveaux joking about finding dirty magazines under Danny's mattress and Danny giving up the search to spin in defeated little circles on her desk chair.

Danny's roommate comes by once to pick up a textbook between classes, raises her manicured eyebrows at Deveaux's long length sprawled out on the floor by Danny's bed. Deveaux smiles his slow, sleazy grin at her and she blushes, hurries back out the door without saying anything at all. 

Her heels click rapidly down the hall, and when the echo of the hall door closing reaches them, Danny swivels around to kick Deveaux in the side. “Mean.”

“How was that mean, Danny,” Deveaux drowses, lazy in the sunlight coming through the window. 

“You hit on anything with a pulse that's a C cup or bigger,” Danny retorts. She kicks at him again, bored.

“Then that rules you out, at least, eh?” Deveaux grabs her ankle before she can kick him again, pulling her, yelping and sliding, out of the swivel chair. She lands half on his chest, and props herself up with one elbow on the dingy dorm carpeting.

He holds her by her upper arm and points a lecturing finger in front of her face. “No kicking. Bad.”

Danny narrows her eyes when he won't let her shrug out of his grip, but he's looking past her suddenly, pasting on his smarmiest grin. Shit. Danny drops her head, knowing what's coming.

“Wow, guys, right on the floor with the door open. Bold choice.” Cally's voice is dry, edged with the same tension it always seems to have around Deveaux these days. 

Danny wrenches her arm out of Deveaux's hold, glaring at him when all he does is grin sunnily and lie back, holding his hands up in surrender. 

Cally's looking straight at her, because Danny wonders at times if Cally's physically incapable of shrinking from anything, but it's an odd, confused look.

“So I'm going to come back and maybe we can do that run tomorrow, okay.” 

It's not a question, and Danny finds her voice right as Cally turns to leave. “No- come on, hey. Cally! There's still time to go, it's barely six!” She yells the last part at Cally's back, already halfway down the hallway, then comes back to her room to kick over her wastebasket in frustration. 

Deveaux opens his mouth and Danny turns on him. “Don't. Do not even think of -. Just shut up and, and, shut up, okay?”

She gives her wastebasket another kick, sends bits of paper and tissues skittering across the floor.

“I'm going for my goddamn run.” She spots her keys dangling on the other side of the doorknob and shakes her head in brief disbelief before grabbing them. “Feel free to go back to your own shitheap of a room.”

Deveaux gives her a dirty look, heaving himself up off her floor, but still claps a companionable hand on her shoulder as they walk out.

| | | |

It's been this thing, ever since Deveaux transferred in last year. Cally took this weird, cagey dislike to him out of _nowhere_ , Danny swears to god. Nowhere.

Danny doesn't get it. She's known Deveaux since she was checking the other kids into the reeds in their grade school's pond hockey games. Hell, he's helped her take down some of the bigger kids in those matches. He's got an impulsive streak a mile wide that's gotten him in trouble on ice and off, but apart from that, he's engaging, genuine and charismatic and quick. Danny's known him forever, and she's sure as hell not giving up on him just because Cally can't see how great he is. 

What's frustrating is that Cally won't even admit she has a problem with him. Danny asked her point-blank and Cally denied it, smiling innocently and biting her thumbnail ragged. Danny called bullshit and Cally blinked wide eyes at her, cheeks tan from a summer playing field hockey and soccer, and said, steel undercutting it, that she had _no_ idea what Danny was talking about. 

So Danny dropped it. 

It's the first and only time she can think of that she knows without a doubt that Cally lied to her.

Sudden headlights in front of Danny make her course-correct into the ditch on the side of the road, and Danny takes a moment to gather her thoughts and catch her breath, bent over with her hands on her knees in the damp collection of leaves.

After a moment, she climbs back out, bounces in place for a second on the pavement shoulder, and takes off. 

It's unthinking habit that makes her take her usual position a good two feet away from the edge of the road, saving the space for Cally running beside her.

| | | |

It's long past dark when she gets back. She fumbles for a moment with her lanyard, unable to find the dorm key off the bat, then lets herself in. The door opens to the first-floor common room, quiet now, empty couches facing away from the door in a rough square around a high TV.

She grabs a water bottle from one of the vending machines and stands, drinking it, for a long moment.

“Good run?” 

Danny jumps, sputters on some of the water, and, belatedly, sees the feet dangling over the arm of one of the couches. She swipes a hand across her mouth. “Fucks sake, Cally.”

“Sorry.” Danny can't see Cally's face, but she's sure she's smiling smugly. Danny rolls her eyes.

Thumps and muffled laughter from the second floor tell them the dorm isn't anywhere as empty as it seems, but down here the lights are dimmed down more so than usual. A few of the ceiling strips flicker spasmodically over in one corner, making the rest of the room seize in sudden darkness every few minutes. 

Danny walks over to Cally's couch and bats at her feet. Bites her lip on a smile when Cally, one arm thrown over her face, makes a disgruntled noise and kicks ineffectually at her.

She's quiet a moment, and Cally doesn't say anything else, just breathes. Danny wishes she'd take her arm down from where it's hiding her eyes, face thrown into shadow, just to see if Cally's still mad at her. Or whatever. 

Danny doesn't realize what she's doing until she does, suddenly, catching herself fixedly watching the steady rise and fall of Cally's flat stomach above her jeans. Cally doesn't really have much of a fashion sense beyond the thin white v-necks she wears with basic bootcuts, a few bangles or bracelets here and there. Danny has more of a figure, can't pull the tomboy look off with much authority, but Cally's _built_ like a boy, and the simple wardrobe sits on her slim frame perfectly, gives Cally a peculiar, effortless style. 

There's a stretch where Cally's shirt is riding up, and Danny's eyes slide down to the neat jut of Cally's hipbones, the bare skin only half-hidden by the slouching waistband.

“Like what you see?” Cally's voice is deep and scratchy, and she tilts her hips up invitingly as Danny snatches her gaze away, blushing hard against her will.

Cally's laughing at her, eyes dark in the low light, and half-lidded. Her lips part on a breath and Danny swallows, but all Cally does is stretch indecently, and then sit up, groaning.

Danny offers her a hand to pull her the rest of the way up, and Cally clasps onto her wrist, levering herself off the couch. 

“Practice changed from nine to seven tomorrow morning, fyi,” Cally says, not moving from where Danny pulled her up, inches away. 

Danny blinks away, backing up. She wipes her hands on her sweatpants, conscious suddenly of her messy hair falling out of its ponytail, her disheveled appearance overall. 

It's stupid, because Cally's seen her at so much worse. It's not like Danny's looking her best on the ice, after all, but this seems different. Weird and different. 

Cally's giving her an inscrutable look now, though, and Danny forces herself to say, “Wonderful. Maybe Coach can bump it back to 4am next week. Shake things up.” She sighs and tucks a loose strand of hair behind one ear. It feels limp and gross. “I gotta shower and crash. Meet you for breakfast at six?”

“Six-thirty.”

“You're gonna feel like ass eating that close to practice.”

Cally shrugs.

Danny's nearly at the stairs.“Yeah, okay, six-thirty, then.”

She catches Cally's ironic little salute before she turns to jog up to her floor, calves protesting every step.

| | | |

On the ice, Cally is all-business. Danny thinks privately that she'll have the captaincy by her junior year for sure, if not by the end of this one. They've both had solid sophomore years, but Cally...Cally's something else out here. She already wears an A, and maybe Danny's biased, but the dickbag who currently wears the C doesn't deserve it like Cally does.

Like right now, _Captain_ Mattie is supposed to be calling their plays during the scrimmage PK. Instead, he got the initial two minutes increased to five for arguing with Coach's tripping call. He sulks in the penalty box, glaring at his feet and ignoring the play as soon as he's out of it.

Cally steps up right away, calling a time-out. She looks to the other A, a quiet freshman who has some of the best hands Danny's ever seen on anyone in their talent bracket. Even with her letter, even with her skill, she doesn't speak up at times like this. She gives Cally a go-ahead nod, and Cally raises her voice, outlines the rest of the kill, a _smarter_ kill, in a clear, confident voice.

She meets everyone's eyes as she does so, and Danny feels a fierce loyalty starting to well in her chest. She taps her stick against the bench boards as Cally wraps up, the rest of the team joining in briefly, and Cally has time for one surprised, grudging smile before she's shoving her mouth-guard back in and shaking out her shoulders, ready to kill this fucker off.

| | | |

They meet up for lunch after morning skate and classes whenever they can. Their schedules don't overlap as much this year; they have nowhere near as many classes together as freshman year, and Danny's hurrying to make their meet-up, let out late from her lecture.

Cally had a lab just one building over from the university cafe, while Danny has to cross campus to meet up, so when Danny pushes her way through the glass cafe doors and doesn't immediately see Cally waiting, she's a little thrown. 

“Small black with room, right?” The barista is smiling expectantly at her, drumming his fingers against the cash register. 

Danny tunes in with a blink, still looking around the crush of students for Cally. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, no, that's it. Be great.” She smiles back, finally. “Thanks.”

The barista nods cheerfully as he turns around to fill her up, and she pays quickly. She scootches into a less-crowded corner to wait, holding the steaming cup in both hands and watching the clock. She has class again in a little under an hour, and Cally hadn't said anything about canceling.

The cafe is located in the midst of a common-area, a trendy addition that's still new, and the doors and walls are glass. Danny can see out around her in three directions. The rest of the student population is going about their business in waves, all of them maneuvering around the little cafe oasis in the middle of everything. Danny people-watches idly. 

After a while, her coffee half-drunk, she glances at the clock again. Time's up. She's going to be late to her next class if she doesn't hustle. 

“Great chat, Cally,” she mutters under her breath as she stands up and drains the rest of her coffee in one burning gulp.

| | | |

Danny keeps her head up in the hallways for the rest of the day in case she can spot Cally going past. The crowds of students get smaller and smaller as the day wears on, until Danny doesn't bother actively looking anymore.

Besides, it's not like it's that big of a deal. Something probably just came up. For a full hour. Danny tells herself this as she climbs the stairs to her dorm room, backpack heavy against her shoulders. She's wiped. Morning skate plus two lectures, a test in one and an extensive lab after that which she didn't fully understand rounded out the afternoon, and she's planning on crashing as soon as she can drop her books on the floor and collapse on her bed. 

Except when she shoulders her door open, Cally's sitting on her bed, feet tucked neatly under herself, laughing at something another girl spinning slowly on Danny's chair apparently just said. 

Danny blinks in the doorway, tired enough that she wonders momentarily if she's even in the right room. She does that sometimes, wandering back to Cally's or Deveaux's room instead of her own when she's too worn-out to run on anything but slightly faulty autopilot.

But Cally sits up straighter when she sees Danny, lighting up, and Danny suddenly doesn't care who's room it is. “Danny! We've been waiting for you.” 

Dan makes a face, dropping her backpack at the foot of her bed. She thinks, _*You* were waiting..._ but just says, “Had to stay after in OrgChem. Lab kicked my ass.” She turns and quirks a smile at the other girl. “Hey.”

Cally bounces a little on the bed, restless energy that Danny can't believe she hasn't burned off yet. “Dan, this is Freddy, or Shoe, because her last name is Swedish and hilarious.” She gestures, lazily dramatic, between the two of them. “Freddy, this's Dan.”

Freddy grins in greeting at Danny, still straddling Danny's desk chair, long legs planted on either side. She's cute – pretty, actually, very – all blue eyes and blonde hair pulled into two messy braids that wisp against her face. Danny smiles back, but slides a glance at Cally as soon as Freddy looks away. 

Cally flops back onto the pillows and says, “Freddy's coming to whats-his-face's party tonight.” 

Danny finally moves from the doorway, shoving Cally's feet out of the way so she can sit down on the end of her own bed. “All right? Go nuts.”

She gets a pillow lobbed at her for that. She catches it easily and wings it straight back at Cally's face as Freddy laughs. “Jeez, what?”

Cally frowns up at her from where her head is buried in every pillow Danny owns. They're going to smell like Cally's shampoo now. Danny wishes she was less totally on board with that. 

“You're coming, too.”

Freddy makes a humming noise of agreement, eyes crinkling at Danny. She's friendly.

Danny snorts and pokes Cally's socked feet until her toes curl in defensively. “Yeah, no, I'm not.” She rests her hand on the arch of Cally's foot. “You guys have fun, though.”

Cally struggles upright. “What, you have other plans? You doing something with _Andre_?” It's not accusatory, but it's just unthinkingly sarcastic enough to put Danny on the defensive.

“Uh, no, Cally. I'm sleeping. I'm fucking exhausted.” Danny takes her hand off Cally's foot. 

Freddy looks back and forth between them. “We should probably go, Cally. I need to check on my jello shots, anyway.” She stands up, smiling again at Danny and offering her hand. “Great to meet you, Danny.”

Danny's kind of surprised, but she stands up and shakes it, smiling back in a baffled kind of way. “Hey, you too. Make sure Cally doesn't puke tonight, okay? It's not pretty.”

Cally hops up, flips Danny off, and hooks a finger through Freddy's beltloops to lead her out of Danny's room. Her hands are small even against Freddy's slim waist, and her expression is closed off when she gives Danny a tight smile.

The door shuts behind them and Danny's left alone. She groans quietly and faceplants onto the bed.

| | | |

It's dark when she blinks awake. She can't tell it's just from crashing so early or if something else woke her up. Her desk clock blinks 3:18am at her in soft blue lights. She holds her breath for a moment, listening.

There's a low metallic sound like someone trying the doorknob and Danny tenses, but when the door eases open, the permanently-bright dorm hallway makes it easy to recognize Cally, leaning against the doorway and using the frame for balance. 

Danny huffs out an unimpressed breath, still bleary, and rolls over. Ignores her. 

Cally closes the door behind her with the care of the truly drunk, shushing it quietly as the lock clicks into place. Danny's not looking, but she can hear Cally padding across to Danny's bed. 

Sure enough, the bed dips a few moments later as Cally clambers in with little grace. She nudges Danny over and steals most of the blankets. 

Danny sighs, and lets her. Cally scoots closer, curling up around Danny like a limpet, making small contented noises as she settles in. 

It'd be cute if she didn't reek of booze. Danny wrinkles her nose, about to pull away a little more, when Cally says, “Danny,” on a sigh, pushing her face into Danny's neck and – nuzzling under Danny's ear. Danny freezes, breath sticking in her throat, and Cally sighs again, wraps a leg around one of Danny's, and opens her mouth against the same spot. 

It feels like a kiss. It's not, Danny tells herself sternly, but...it feels like one, warm lips pressed against her skin with _some_ kind of intent. But Cally's drunk, extremely so, and after a moment, she mutters something incomprehensible, wriggles closer one last time, and ducks her head into Danny's shoulder, going limp. 

Danny adjusts as much as she can with a drunk body wrapped around her. She lies there unmoving, staring at her ceiling until she drifts off, breathing in time with Cally in the dark.

| | | |

She wakes up with Cally's hair in her mouth and her roommate giving her a pointed look in the mirror she's using to do her makeup across the room.

Danny ignores her and spits out the strands of hair. “Jesus, even your hair taste like vodka,” she bitches quietly, just for Cally's unconscious ears.

“Fun night?” her roommate asks, disinterested as she fills in her brows. 

Cally shifts against Danny, her elbow going into Danny's ribs and her foot sliding the length of Danny's calf. She's still out. Danny's pretty sure she'll sleep until noon if she's not woken up. Danny tries to untangle her legs, at least.

“It was fine,” she answers, snaking one leg out from Cally's. Cally clings tighter as if to compensate for the loss. Danny sighs, and catches her roommate smirking. 

“Shut up.”

Her roommate just grabs her purse, shimmies into her jacket, and blows Danny a sarcastic kiss as she leaves. 

Danny sinks back into the bed, unthinkingly wrapping an arm around Cally and pulling her close. 

She wants to smack herself for it as soon as she does, though – she has class, as does Cally, and this isn't – well, it's not like this is totally outside the norm for them, but it's different now. Danny stops that line of thought, and pushes Cally off her gently but firmly. 

Cally buries her face back into the pillows as soon as Danny extracts herself, tugging the blankets tighter around herself, and Danny glares at her for a second, knowing she doesn't have the will power to actually disturb her. 

“I hate you,” she comments. She fetches a glass of water and some aspirin, puts them next to the clock by the bed, and gets dressed as quietly as she can. Cally's worked herself further under the covers by the time Danny's ready to go, one flushed cheek and a smudgy fan of eyelashes the only parts of her visible now. Danny stands at the side of the bed for a long moment, looking down at her. 

“Really. Hate,” she says, quieter. She reaches out a hand and touches just her fingertips to Cally's hair, running them down the line of her cheek lightly. Cally's lips part on a breath at it, and Danny snatches her hand away, shaken. 

But Cally doesn't wake up, and it's quiet, empty in the room. Danny waits a moment for her heart rate to settle down, then reaches out again. Traces the bow of Cally's lower lip with her middle finger, until Cally makes a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, and Danny jerks away again, backing up for good this time. 

She swallows hard, hot and confused, jerking on her backpack and hustling out the door.

| | | |

There's a game tomorrow, brutal on a Wednesday when most of the team is already struggling over the academic mid-week hump.

No sign of Cally in the hallways all day makes Danny wonder if she's skipped classes to stay in bed. But that's not like Cally – they've both gone to class half-dead, whether sick or hungover, and Danny's unconvinced that last night's hangover would be enough to make her ditch now. 

Deveaux catches up with her on her way to the Anatomy lecture she shares with him. He knocks his shoulder into her's and she gives him a smile. They walk in silence. 

Once they're in the lecture, though, hidden in the back row of the stadium seats, Deveaux scribbles something in the margins of his notes, slides it to the end of the attached desk for Danny to see. 

_Going out to Flannigan's tonight. You in?_

Danny wrinkles her nose at him in silent disapproval. He rolls his eyes and adds underneath, _won't stay out too late/drink too much/compromise the game_.

It's tempting, especially after missing Cally's big night out yesterday evening. She drums her fingers against her own notes, waffling internally. 

_Fine._ , she finally scrawls back. And then, in a whisper, “But seriously. Nothing crazy, okay? Not tonight.”

Deveaux just kicks back in his chair and props his feet up on the back of the seat ahead of him. His grin is wide and white and noncommittal.

| | | |

Cally's waiting for her when the class gets out. Deveaux gives her a tiny wave, and she smiles tightly at him. At least she's trying, Danny thinks, and doesn't say anything.

“Feeling better?” she asks instead.

Cally goes a little pink, and looks down the hallway, away from Danny. “Yeah. Yeah, I didn't, you know, actually drink that-that much, so. Hangover's not quite so much of a bitch today.” She shoves her hands in her pockets. “Aspirin helped. Thanks for that.”

Danny gives her a funny look. They've been leaving aspirin out for each other since Freshman year without doing this kind of thank-you dance.“Yeah, no problem.” 

The press of bodies around them herds them into movement, and Cally falls into step with her and Deveaux. Deveaux slings an arm around Danny's shoulder and leans across her to address Cally as they walk. “So. Flannigan's tonight. You wanna come?”

Cally's eyebrows do a complicated little dance. She opens her mouth and Danny tenses a little, but all she says is, “I don't think so. Kinda wiped.”

Someone knocks hard into Deveaux, tipping him off-balance and into Danny. When she regains her footing, Danny hollers at his back, “Fuck you, too, Paille!”

Deveaux laughs, and Cally's even smiling grudgingly at her feet. Danny shrugs off Deveaux's arm and nudges Cally. “Sure you don't want to come? I know you were out last night, but...It'd be fun, right? Game tomorrow, so nothing crazy.”

Deveaux snorts. “You two can be boring in the corner together.”

That makes Danny smile wider, and she crowds close to Cally, pestering. “Come on, Cally. Be _boring_ with me.”

Cally's lips quirk up. “Yeah, well. Wouldn't want you to be the only loser there...”

Danny grins and fist-pumps. Deveaux just shakes his head, ruffling Danny's hair. “I'm this way. See you two later.”

| | | |

When he leaves, Danny bites her lip and glances at Cally. “You know you don't _have_ to come, right?”

Cally meets her glance, looking surprised. “I know.” She pauses. “You- you know you don't have to invite me along if you don't want to, either.”

Danny stops in her tracks, catching the strap to Cally's messenger bag to stop her, too. “What?”

Cally raises her eyebrows at her like it should be obvious. “ _You_ don't have to invite _me_ to everything you do just because _he_ suggests it.”

There's no way her voice is that flat due to genuine indifference. Danny brushes away a strand of hair that's fallen in her eyes and stares. “I don't.” Cally's eyebrows go up again, and she glances away. Danny grabs her shoulder and makes her look back at her. “I _don't_ , Cally.” She frowns, and feels something jittery start up in her stomach. “I always want you there.”

Cally swallows.“Yeah, okay, then.” She starts walking again, the conversation over just like that, and Danny has to follow at her heels, helpless and still kind of confused. 

“Who's going to make me look cool, anyway, if you're not there to be lamer than me?” It's dumb, but it's all Danny has after that. 

It works, either way. Cally huffs out an amused half-laugh. “Oh, weak chirp, Girardi. Weak fuckin' chirp.”

“Like you can do any better, Miss 'Hey Pies, Your Mom Cut Your Hair?' I think he's still giggling about that shit.” 

“Oh, screw you.”

“Solid come-back. That's one for the books.”

| | | |

Deveaux finds her in the media room that evening, hunched over on the floor in front of one of the big TVs. She's running a tape of a game from last month against the team they're facing tomorrow.

He flicks on the lights and Danny winces, but doesn't take her eyes off the play. There's a face-off deep in the third she's waiting for, off an icing call. 

“I'm coming. Give me just a second...” She watches herself on the flickering screen, waiting for the drop. It comes, Mattie knocks it out of their zone, and Danny leans forward. The opposing team's forward, a big Slovak transfer kid, gets a stick on the puck before her teammate Nate reaches it. The Slovak turns, using his body to shield it, even as Nate battles for it, then gets oriented toward the goal. He shakes Nate off long enough to fire a wrister toward the goal.

The hiss from Deveaux right behind her tells Danny that he remembers what happens – Danny drops down to block the shot, sprawling across the ice. She's half a second too late; the puck whizzes smoothly past her and finds its way under their goalie's right leg pad. 

Deveaux tugs at her ponytail. “Come on, Danny. You can stress about the game _tomorrow_.”

Danny takes one last, hard look at where she was positioned before the Slovak gained possession and took the shot, then glares at Deveaux, flipping off the set. 

“I said I'm coming.” She struggles upright, muscles cramped from sitting with bad posture. She spreads her arms, favoring Deveaux with a wide, boyish grin.“And who's stressing?”

Deveaux gives her a glance that tells her she's fooling nobody, and then ushers her out of the media room door with a smack to the back of her head. “Then let's go get drunk!”

| | | |

Cally's already at Flannigan's when Danny and Deveaux arrive. Danny was surprised when Deveaux told her Cally had already left. She'd been looking forward to getting ready with her, shooting the shit and venting about the rest of the day while they were still in the dorms, while could still hear themselves think.

Flannigan's is nice enough, but it's loud, and extremely crowded. Danny walks through the door and it's like hitting a brick wall of sound and bodies. 

She tries to tell herself this might be what she needs. She's been on edge for over a week now, and a little loosening up would do her good. 

Cally's at the bar, perched on one of the high stools. She's easy to spot, ass scooched to the edge of her seat as she leans her elbows on the bar, a thin leather bracelet sliding down her bare forearm. She's not that dressed up – she never really is – but she's Cally. Danny has to stop and look at something else for a long moment before her stomach returns to normal. 

“Danny?” Deveaux has to almost yell over the music. He snaps his fingers in front of her face, and Danny grabs his hand, twists his pinky back on instinct. “Shit, fuck, Danny!”

Danny lets him go after laughing in his face; he nurses his hand, mock-glaring and cradling it close. “Psycho bitch.”

“Hey, watch the names. Don't make me go after your other hand, man.” 

Deveaux just crinkles his eyes at her affectionately, losing his wounded facade. “You're the only psycho bitch for me anyway.”

“Awwwww.” Paille chooses that moment to appear behind them, two drinks in his hand as he sticks his head into the conversation. “You two are just so cute it makes me want to puke.”

Cally catches Danny's eye from across the room, nodding her over to the empty bar stool next to her. Danny answers Pies with a half-hearted, “Who invited him, Deveaux? You know he can't be out unsupervised...”

Deveaux just waves her away. “Yeah, yeah, go make Cally stop staring a hole in my skull. I'll keep this idiot from falling into the toilets. Go.”

Flannigan's is a bar, not a club, but nights like tonight it feels like more than just a place to get drinks. The lights are low over the bar and flashing dully out on the space cleared as a dance floor, bass blasting. Danny has to force her way through the press of bodies, applying a strategic elbow here and there when somebody's being particularly stubborn. 

She makes it over to Cally and collapses on the stool, legs sprawled in front of herself. “Jesus, it's crowded.” She pushes her bangs off her forehead and leans in toward Cally to be heard. “You been here long?”

Cally shrugs noncommittally, seesaws her hand. “Twenty minutes, maybe.” She raises her beer toward the bartender and inclines her head toward Danny. The bartender gives them both an acknowledging nod, still mixing something on the other end of the bar. 

Danny prods Cally's knee with her own. “Didn't wait for me.”

The label on Cally's beer is in little torn-up pieces in front of her, and she picks at it with slim fingers again. “You weren't in your room when I stopped by.” She shrugs again, a tiny movement of her shoulders before flicking a piece of wrapper in Danny's direction. “Figured you'd be- I dunno. Figured I'd just meet you here.”

She offers Danny a quick, genuine smile after that, and Danny can't push it. She's not looking for an argument, and it's silly, anyway. Cally can go wherever she wants without Danny.

When the bartender comes over with a beer for her, she spins around on her stool, facing the dance floor. Cally follows suit, taking a swig and taking care to elbow Danny gently in the head as she turns. 

Danny knocks her away, purses her mouth on a glare, and raises loose fists at her in mock-jabs. Cally grins, wide and gorgeous, and Danny is so totally fucked. 

They sit, watching the churning mass of bodies and dancing lights, cracking up at Nate striking out, boggling at Pies _not_ striking out, progressively killing their beer, then another two.

They're slumped into each other several hours later, having gone past tipsy into drunk and back into the kind of tipsy that's more sleepy than drunk. 

Cally's bopping her head along to the current song, even though her head is resting on Danny's shoulder. Her temple bumps into the tough bone at the ball of Danny's shoulder every time, and eventually Danny makes a disapproving hum, looking down at her. She's not drunk enough to consider contorting in a way that would send Cally's head in her lap – she spares a hot, blurry moment wishing she was – but she puts her hand palm-up over her own shoulder, catching Cally's head the next time it comes down. 

“S'at for?” Cally's eyes are bright and half-lidded when they peer up at Danny from her weird upside-down angle. 

“Bone's not comfy.” Danny wriggles her fingers where they cradle half of Cally's head. “This is better.”

Cally blinks at her for a moment, \suddenly looking suspiciously sober, and Danny flushes, looks away. That's a mistake - a guy across the room is giving them a look that Danny's not so much on board with. She looks back at the neutral space of the dance-floor, but Cally chooses that moment to mumble, “S' nice,” and turn her face into Danny's hand. She presses a flutter of a kiss to Danny's fingertips, and Danny tries to keep breathing normally. 

She focuses hard on the dance-floor for a while, as Cally nestles in closer. She's affectionate when she's drunk, Danny reminds herself. Even though there's still a few inches left in each of their beer bottles and they've made no move to finish them off in almost an hour. She just holds still, moving her fingers lightly every so often when the muscles start cramping from the strange position.

It's not uncomfortable. But when Cally shifts again and slides her small palm over Danny's stomach, tucking herself close enough that Danny can feel her breathe against the sensitive places on her neck, can count the minute flex of her fingers with just the thin layer of Danny's t-shirt keeping them off Danny's skin, it's too much. Danny has to stop. 

She stands abruptly, leaves Cally jarred upright and furrowing her brow after her. Danny throws a, “Gotta pee, be right back,” over her shoulder as she makes her escape. 

The bathroom is way in the back, and Danny is more than familiar with the way it takes a bizarre, winding path around all the patron tables to reach it. 

The lights are comfortingly high in the ladies room, at least. (Danny knows from experience that the men's room is a different, more serial-killer-y story.) She stands for a long moment at the sink, dismissing the temptation to splash water on her face to knock herself out of whatever's going on in her head about Cally. Shaking out her hands, being under the bright lights – she feels more normal. She files the dark, loud club and Cally's proximity into her “Things To Avoid Combining”, right next to “Coffee, Tomato Juice, And Rum”. She had some unfortunate morning-beverage experiments as a Freshman.

When she makes her way out of the ladies room and into the main floor of the bar, though, she only gets about halfway before someone grabs her arm. 

She turns warily, assuming it's Deveaux with some smartass comment about Cally. 

It's not. “You and your ladyfriend look pretty cozy over there,” the guy who was eyeing her and Cally before says, too-close and reeking of booze. 

Danny tugs her arm out of his grip. “What? Not sure that's any of your business, man.”

He's tall, but so is Danny. He only has a few inches on her, but a considerable amount of weight makes him loom. He sniffs, a disgusting clearing of his sinuses that makes Danny's lip curl. “Y'both could come be cozy with me, eh? Find out what'cher missing.'

Danny doesn't pretend she doesn't know what he's getting at. “Yeah, uh, you're not doing shit with her. With either of us. Go puke it up in the mens' room and sleep it off, all right?”

She tries to leave, but he grabs her again, fingers bruisingly tight against her upper arm. “What, you two can fuck each other but not me? Too good? Fucking _dykes_.”

The next moment he's swearing nasally, blood pouring from his nose, as Danny shakes out her fist. “Shit,” she hisses, and only has time for that before he's spitting something nasty and swinging back, a nasty right hook that connects right under her eye, snaps her head back. 

The music keeps blaring, but through the roaring in her ears, she hears yelling, someone shouting her name. She gets him again, clipped right across the jaw, and he backs down, lip opened up, blood from it smearing with the blood from his nose.

He's a mess, and she gives him some space after that second one, seething, _seething_ mad. She grins through it as a cut under her eye start to bleed down her cheek. “Pretty good hook for a fuckin' dyke, eh?” she taunts, either adrenaline or fury rushing through her. She almost feels like laughing, this is such a release, such a relief after all the tension she's cooped up and kept still inside her lately. 

She hears him growl something, and he nearly gains his head to lunge at her again, and Danny finally has a clear moment of _Oh, shit_ , because she can throw a punch, but she's under no delusion that she won't beaten to a pulp if he gains close quarters.

“Hey! Hey, fucking knock it off, both of you.' The big bouncer that sits at the front door every night is there the next moment, holding the guy back. He glares at Danny, too, but Cally's suddenly standing in front of Danny and shoving her back into Deveaux.

Danny doesn't bother struggling against Deveaux, and he doesn't bother restraining her for real. The music is so loud, and her head is full of sound and wool and slowly-emerging pain. Cally's barely containing her snarl as she argues with the bouncer, and Danny's suddenly hit with a bout of dizziness that makes her slump a little in Deveaux's loose grasp. 

“Hey, hey-” He catches her, tucks one arm more firmly around her waist, and grabs Cally's shoulder. “We're going home, Cally.”

The bouncer looks like he heartily agrees with this sentiment, already hauling the perv toward the back exit, and Cally's about to argue when she sees Danny. She's still frowning, flushed and angry, but her face softens into something more worried. “Yeah. You're right. Okay, we're going.”

Danny blinks hard, wriggles out from Deveaux. “You can stay. I'm good, I'll make it by myself.”

Deveaux and Cally both snort. Cally insinuates herself under one of Danny's arms and then turns to Deveaux. “I've got her. I'll take her back.”

Deveaux opens his mouth, then closes it. He leans in to peck Danny on her uninjured cheek as Cally stares him down. “Go get cleaned up, psycho bitch,” he says quietly, worried and fond.

Danny cracks a smile, and then Cally's bracing her up as they make their way through the crowd of bodies to a side exit. The cool night air hits Danny like a slap, and she swallows, suddenly, silently thankful Cally's there for her to lean on.

| | | |

It's only when Cally's paying the cab driver that Danny realizes they're at Deveaux's building. She tilts her head up, staring at the dark brick building.

“Forget where you live?” she mutters to Cally as the cab pulls away and peels off. 

Cally tucks her wallet into her back pocket. “He texted me on the way over. His roommates are out, and their suite has more stuff for cleaning you up.”

Danny raises her eyebrows – which, ow – but follows Cally in. 

It's true: Deveaux's medicine cabinet is ridiculously well-stocked. Danny has a modest supply of the same things – compression bandages, over the counter painkillers up the wazoo, ice-packs and an assortment of topical analgesics – but Deveaux lives in a suite. He actually _has_ a medicine cabinet, instead of Danny's under-bed trunk, and a fridge with ice packs already chilled and ready to use. 

“Sit before you fall over,” Cally orders, head in the freezer and breath puffing out around her. 

Danny collapses onto onto of the stools that ring the little island counter-top. “Don't get the blue one. He uses that one on his balls.”

Cally makes a muffled sound of disgust, and emerges with a flexible red one that looks new. She holds it up questioningly, and Danny shrugs her approval. 

Cally wraps it in a dish towel and comes to stand in front of Danny. Instead of handing it to her like Danny expects, she steps in closer, fitting herself between Danny's legs to hold the pack against the cut under Danny's eye. 

Danny doesn't even bother feeling offended that Cally thinks she can't even hold an ice-pack, and lets her. It's nice, having Cally tucked close again like this. Danny takes a deep breath, feeling herself finally start to settle. 

“What'd he say.” Cally's voice is low, almost a murmur, and she doesn't look at Danny when she asks. She's frowning a hole into the dish-towel covering the ice-pack. 

Danny rolls her eyes, then winces. Cally's frown deepens at it. “Just, you know. He was a dick.”

“He had to have said something to make you haul off on him, Dan.”

“It doesn't matter. He deserved a broken nose, can we please just leave it at that?” She pushes Cally's hand away for a second and touches her fingertips to the nasty bruise she can feel forming around her eye. “Jesus,” she says, tired.

“Yeah. _Jesus_.” Cally strokes a thumb against it, too, absently. It kind of hurts, but Danny's too busy swallowing and trying not to press up into her to notice. Cally's just worried, she reminds herself. Platonically worried, because she's Danny's best friend. And god, it's been a long night. 

Cally blinks after a moment and draws away. Danny sighs involuntarily at the loss, and immediately wants to take it back. Shit, can't she keep a lid on it for two seconds?

“Band-aids still over the sink?” Cally asks. 

Danny just nods, and Cally returns with a few, all different sizes. 

The phone rings, and they both jump a little. It's the dorm phone, and Danny gives it an unimpressed face, goes to hop off the kitchen stool to answer it. 

She's surprised when Cally slides her body in front of her, pushes Danny back onto the stool with a light shove to her sternum. “Will you just let it go to the machine?”

Danny sits more out of surprise than agreement. 

“It's probably not even Deveaux,” Cally grumbles. “He'd just call your damn cell.”

Okay, that's it. Danny grabs Cally's wrist and ducks her head a little to catch Cally's eyes. “ _Hey_. I'd answer the phone to be fucking polite, not because I'm chasing after Deveaux like a fucking dog, okay?” She can feel this whole old argument bubbling up under her skin, confusing and hurtful. She huffs out a hard breath. “I don't- I don't know what you think our deal is, me and Deveaux, but it's not.” She scrubs a hand back through her hair, searching for the words. “It's just not...whatever you think it is, all right.”

Cally's tense, but she hasn't pulled away. “You don't know what I think it is.”

Danny doesn't take her eyes off her. “No, but I know you.”

That makes something in Cally's expression change, and she tugs her wrist out of Danny's grasp. “You don't know everything, Dan.”

“So _tell me_ ,” Danny pleads, hand still outstretched and open from where she was holding Cally's wrist. She's honestly expecting Cally to blow her off again, or maybe, just maybe, finally open the fuck up about her issue here.

What's she's not expecting is Cally making a frustrated sound and pushing herself right up against Danny's body, covering Danny's mouth with her own. 

Danny can't even process it for a second, and Cally stops when Danny doesn't kiss back. Cally's face is a wreck of emotions when she meets Danny's eyes, open and vulnerable and angry, now starting to look more than a little humiliated. “All right? _This_ is – that's why I don't.” She swallows, throat working, and Danny can only stare, mouth open.

Cally goes to step away, blushing and embarrassed, and Danny's brain turns back on all at once. She grabs Cally's wrist again, hauls her back in, and kisses her as Cally's still drawing in a shocked breath. 

It's good – god, it's good, and Cally melts against her before too long, only pulling back to bite at Danny's bottom lip, to run her tongue over it and then return. Danny shudders a little, and Cally brings a tentative hand up to rest on Danny's hip. Danny curls her lip a little into the kiss, pulls Cally in as close as she can between her legs. 

Cally groans, fingers flexing tight against Danny's hip. “Danny, you don't-”

There are about a hundred ways that sentence could end, none of which Danny has any desire to hear. “Will you just fucking-” She nips at the thin skin under Cally's jaw, half-scared Cally's about to come to her senses and half-angry that she didn't do this sooner, and listens to her moan again. “Can't you let it, just-”

Cally tenses a little, goes still against Danny, then mutters, “Yeah. No, I can,” more to herself, Danny thinks, than to her.

She raises her head to look Danny in the eye, hair mussed up and lips all bitten-hot. She's suddenly the Cally Danny's most familiar with again, self-assured and a little defiant, with none of that weird self-consciousness anymore. She hooks two fingers into the low waist of Danny's jeans, fingers hot against the taut skin of Danny's belly, and Danny gasps. “So let me,” Cally says, challenge written all over the words. 

Danny only hesitates for a split-second, then nods, blinking hard. This is so far out of anything she's done – she's hooked up with guys before, here and there on dates or drunken nights out. But Cally's the first girl she's ever felt about like this, and Danny's a little shocked at how much more intense the feelings are with Cally. There's nothing she wants more in this moment than to feel Cally's fingers, her mouth, just her breath, christ, on her skin. 

Cally keeps watching Danny's face as she tugs Danny's pants open, skins them down to mid-thigh as Danny clutches her shoulders, tries to help when she can. She's barely keeping her balance on the stool as it is, and when Cally leans in to press a kiss to the swoop of Danny's hipbone, she almost falls off it. 

They are only a few inches apart in height, but Cally still swats Danny's leg after a moment. “Hey. Get off the stool. Lean up against the counter, okay?” Her voice is level, but she's licking her lips compulsively, face flushed and breath coming fast. 

Danny can't stop watching her, but does as she says, dazed and automatic. Plants one hand behind her, gripping the rough edge of the counter-top, and flexes her other one at her side. She wants to touch Cally, dig her fingers through her short hair and hold the nape of Cally's neck in her palm. She's not sure what the etiquette here is. 

“Good,” Cally whispers, voice scratchy and ruined like it gets in the morning. “Tell me to, to stop, or something, if I-”

“Cally, _please_ ,” and Danny would be embarrassed at how needy she sounds, but Cally's dropping to her knees and pressing her mouth to Danny over her simple boycut underwear. 

Any intention of not touching Cally flies out the window as the hand Danny's not using to brace herself up goes to the back of Cally's head, cradling it lightly. “Oh god, Cally.”

Cally hums, the vibrations of it making Danny's head loll back. Cally licks at the thin fabric one more time before tugging it down to join Danny's pants at mid-thigh, impatient. 

Danny thinks Cally's saying something, murmuring it into the space between Danny's thighs, and Danny grips Cally's neck a little tighter than she means to. Cally turns her head to run her nose up the taut line of muscle in Danny's leg, then pushes forward to finally run her tongue over Danny's clit. Danny jerks, and Cally hums again, lightens the pressure until she's making sweet, tiny circles around it that have Danny struggling to keep her hips from working against Cally's face. 

To distract herself, she smooths Cally's hair away from her face where it's drifted into her eyes, sticking to her pink cheeks with sweat. Cally keeps going, thorough and eager, pausing every so often to mouth something against Danny's thighs, against her belly. There are little tremors Danny can feel beginning low in her gut and traveling out to make her shake from head to toe.

“Cally,” she whispers. “Fuck, Cally. Can you, maybe. Your fingers? Please.”

Cally groans against her, bringing her hand up to brush two fingers against Danny's cunt, sliding them up to circle around Danny's clit in place of her tongue as Cally rests her forehead against Danny's hip. She's breathing hard, panting against the ticklish skin there, and Danny gives in to the urge to roll her hips against Cally's fingers. “Cally, Cally,” she whines, mindlessly repeating herself. She's stupid with this, concentrating on keeping her knees from buckling at how fucking perfect it feels. 

It's only a few seconds before there's wet, eager heat against her again as Cally sucks a dirty kiss against her clit, slicking her fingers down to slip inside Danny at the same time. 

The tell-tale prickling rush of orgasm starts building under Danny's skin, and her entire body tenses up. She's saying Cally's name over and over again helplessly, rocking forward onto her tongue. Cally speeds up the rhythm she has going, crooking her fingers and working her tongue relentlessly until Danny's making a sound perilously close to a sob. She clenches her fingers in the hair at Cally's nape, presses Cally's face harder against herself, and comes hard around Cally's fingers.

Her knees buckle, and she loosens her grip on Cally's neck immediately, ready to apologize when she looks down. “Oh, oh, jesus, _Cally_ ,” she breathes.

Cally has the heel of one hand pressed against herself over her jeans, eyes closed and face screwed up like she's in pain as she works it against herself. She still has two fingers inside Danny, flexing minutely with the rhythm she's using on herself, and within seconds, she's gasping for air and shuddering out her own orgasm. Still in her jeans, kneeling on the floor of Deveaux's apartment. Her mouth is still wet from Danny, and Danny comes more quietly again around Cally's lingering fingers at the fucking picture she's making.

She tugs Cally up when she's confident she can stand on her own power again. Cally tips her chin up, somewhere between defiant and pleased, and Danny kisses her.

When they break for breath, Cally opens her mouth to say something – probably stupid, so Danny cuts her off, gasping, “Shut up, seriously, you don't even know how long I've wanted that.”

Cally's looking at her like she's crazy, but recovers pretty quickly, tracing a finger down Danny's neck, over her shoulder, hooking her finger underneath the short sleeve of Danny's shirt. “Freddy said something about this,” she admits. 

Danny stiffens just a little, and Cally raises an eyebrow. “...Freddy? Really?”

“You guys looked...close,” Danny defends, takes the moment to tug her pants back up, leaving them open and unbuttoned at her hips. She bites her lip, and then thrills all over when Cally focuses on the movement, blatantly staring. 

“Freddy's a good friend. And she's hot,” Cally stands on her tiptoes to press a hesitant kiss to Danny's frowning lips, “But, _but_ , Danny. She's not you. She knew I was- well.” 

Danny kisses her back for a second, feeling Cally smile and feeling proprietary, possessive. She nips at Cally's jaw. “She knew you were what?” she murmurs.

Cally shakes her head, and Danny strokes her thumb over the curve of Cally's throat. It's such soft skin, and Danny loses a few moments marveling at it, feeling dizzy with the thought of how soft the rest of Cally must be. 

“She knew I was kind of...I dunno, hung up on you.”

Danny has to laugh, and that sends Cally backing up a good several feet, suddenly wary and blank-faced. Danny grasps after her, says, “No, no. Cally, you dumb fuck.” Cally's expression shuts down even further, and that sobers Danny up. She slumps back, elbows propped on the counter. She sees Cally glance down at the blatant spread of her legs and fights the urge to grin. “Christ. I've pretty much been really fucking hung up on you, too, dude.”

“Not'a dude,” Cally says, annoyed, and Danny grins, all teeth. “Yeah. Yeah, I caught that.”

She expects Cally to laugh at her, give her shit for being so cheesy, but Cally just presses her palm against Danny's hip, leans up and fits her mouth against Danny's again.

Danny leans into it, bracing her hands on either side of herself against the seat of the stool. Cally's mouth is so fucking hot, just like her hands, and Danny groans when Cally licks Danny's tongue, teasing. Cally makes the sweetest sound right back, bringing a hand up to Danny's jaw to deepen the kiss. 

Her other hand is still on Danny's thigh, tightening and relaxing its grip convulsively. Danny's hyper-aware of it the longer they kiss, the more keyed-up she gets, all over again. Cally locks down on Danny's thigh whenever Danny bites at her lips, whenever she uses teeth against the side of her jaw. She lets up whenever Danny takes control of the kiss, loosening her grip as she opens up for Danny, pliable and wanting. 

It's a power trip, and Danny can't believe it's happening. Somewhere in her brain she's convinced this is a dream, or a fluke, or the first retaliatory punch actually knocked her out. When that thought makes itself known, she whispers, “Cally?”, breathing raggedly and blinking out the kiss. 

Cally's not much better off, flushed again and biting her lip. She doesn't move away, but blinks back at Danny, eyes a little glazed over. 

“I'm not- how hard'd he punch me?” Danny mutters, feeling weird. Woozy, in a more pleasant way than usual, but still unbalanced. 

Cally laughs, but her eyebrows furrow. “Kinda hard, Danny.” She strokes a thumb across Danny's jaw, then steps away. “And twice. We should- you should probably get some rest now, actually.”

Danny makes a displeased face and Cally huffs another laugh at her, all concern and affection. Danny wants to punch herself all over again for missing that all this time.

She picks up one of the band-aids they'd abandoned on the counter-top. Holds one up for Cally's approval, and opens it when she gets a nod. 

Her hands are still unsteady, though, and Cally reaches around her to peel off the wrapper when Danny fumbles it. “Turn around,” she instructs quietly.

Danny does, and Cally smooths the band-aid over the cut under Danny's eye, running her finger over it again once it's in place. “Don't get punched again, okay?”

“I make no promises.”

“Danny.”

Danny rolls her eyes a little, but taps her own fingers against Cally's over the band-aid and nods.

“Good.” Cally checks it one more time, then puts the ice-pack back in the freezer, the dish-towel flung over the rum of the sink, and shrugs into her jacket. “You coming?”

Danny was actually planning on just crashing here, probably kicking Deveaux out of his bed if he decided to come back. She glances toward his bedroom and Cally stops getting her stuff together. “Okay, I'll answer that one for you. You're coming. You're coming back with _me_.”

That gets Danny's attention, Cally's possessive tone and the way she's pinning Danny in place with that look that demands compliance. She's going to make such a good fucking captain, Danny thinks. And then tunes back in, meeting Cally's eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, no, that's- better.” She can't help smiling a little, because Cally getting cagey around Deveaux is just. Still annoying, but it's so much better now that she knows why. “I'm with you.”


End file.
